


A Trashcan and A Little Bit of Love

by shootingstarlarry



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Harry Styles - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Smut, down Harry Styles, harry styles/louis tomlinson - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, m/m - Freeform, mature content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootingstarlarry/pseuds/shootingstarlarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how I live until this day, occasionally coming face to face with the tainting creatures, but mostly just scrambling around in the dark shadows.</p><p>Until one time a short flicker of light had shown upon me, and I craved for more. To know what living in the light feels like.</p><p>And Louis Tomlinson was going to show me.</p><p>or</p><p>An AU in which Harry has been emotionally numb since ages and Louis makes him feel something again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

I opened my eyes, due to the noise coming from somewhere nearby. I was met with a dark blue sky, dozens of constellations of stars and the moon almost in its full glory. I used my elbows to lift my lithe body off of the roof I had been lying on for the past hours. 

The noise I had heard was getting louder with the second and mere moments later I could make out the silhouette of a plane flying right over me. The flying machine was provided with multiple colored flashlights at the wings. These lights were installed there as a warning.

My expression I held almost every day was like those lights the airplane had. Every day my face retorts in a very unwelcoming and unpleasant expression, and just like those lights work to tell people 'watch out!', my expression does a pretty well job doing that, as well. It scares people off, which I exactly aim for, because my company isn't something someone would want.

Except for one person. I'll get to that later, though.

This is something I do every transition from Sunday to Monday. I climb sixteen stairs and lay on top of the world, figuratively, I then close my eyes and think about whatever comes to my mind. Whether it be about bunnies or the oppurtunity of jumping of this taunted bundle of bricks. Some days that would be the only thing I thought about, but lately my mind had been more on the bunny-side of things. I am getting better.

I got a job two weeks ago, after years of job hunting. I never got any response to my applications, I suppose because of my poor appearance. Which reminds me, I should wash myself before heading to work today. I looked at my watch on my left arm hanging loosely around my wrist, the clock-hand pointing at 4:27. I craned my head upwards and noticed the sky becoming more lighter. I should probaly go back.

I rolled over onto my stomach and pushed my arms in front of me, helping me to stand onto my feet. I threw one last glance to the edge of the roof and turned around to a door, leading me to my humble home. I began the journey down the sixty-three steps in a very slow pace.

I came to the fifteenth floor and a door opened in the dimly lit hallway which I had almost reached. A familiar person stepped out of the door and jumped at my presence. ''Harry! You really scared me there, mate.'' 

"Hello to you too, Zayn. You're late.'' I stated to the exhausted looking 21-year-old. He let out a groan and followed me, who was already walking down the next flight of stairs. ''Will you stop it already. I wouldn't mind getting fired, actually. Make up some shit excuse and maybe my parents will start helping me pay the rent for this bloody apartment.'' he said, meanwhile lighting up a cigarette. This man's oxygen is replaced by smoke, I swear.

I let out an exaggerated sigh and almost trip over my own feet, but quickly regaining my stance. ''Stop complaining. You should be grateful for having a job at a gas station. I'm a trashman, Zayn. I pick up the garbage of people who are too lazy to do it themselves.''

''Don't go cranky on me now, Styles. I gotta go. Look at the bright side of it, you can light up a cig whenever you want!" He said, sending me a smile while quickening his pace and almost running down the steps, just like every early Monday morning.

Zayn is the only person I talk to. I could adress him as my friend, for as far that goes. The only words we exchange are in the early hours of Monday. It's a routine for us and we got to know each other week by week. After three years of having scattered bits of a conversation that would last a single hour in one go, we started to understand eachother.

Since our first encounter we've never missed a single morning. Whilst having nostalgic thoughts on our first weeks and awkard silences, I opened my door to my small apartment.

I walked through the narrow hallway, the walls on both sides stacked with books. Not only my hallway is like this, so are all the remaining walls, making the already scanty house even more so. My house is a kind of free little library and everyone in this building knows me for my wide collection of books. I have this little system; If you want to borrow a book, just write your name on the paper next to my front door and which book is temporarily missing from my dearly loved collection and you can take it.

Walking further into my house, I came into the kitchen, my second favorite room in my home. I love baking, I cherish the days I have succesfully scrambled enough money together to actually buy some ingredients. Those are the days I savour, the fun days.

There are bad days, as well. Everyone has them, it's human. But when it comes to my bad days.. it's not like most people's.

Whereas a bad day for someone would consist of sleeping in or being late for work, missing the bus home, a break-up with an asshole you were absolutely infatuated with, being soaked from the rain, my bad days aren't as eventful, but a lot more heavier than those inconveniences most people experience.

My bad days consist of dark thoughts and closed eyes that never want to be opened again. And it's heavy. Abso-fucking-lutely heavy.

In the past there used to be a lot more bad days than now. One time, I had eight bad days in a row. Eight. On the last day of my self-created torture, the eighth day, Zayn had found me. He was literally my saviour. And I'll thank him forever for what he did.

He had found me on an early Monday morning in his hallway, sobbing, screaming, leaking endless trails of salty drips over my flushed cheeks. He had taken me inside and asked three continuous questions:

1\. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm scared."

2\. "Why?"

"That I'll jump."

3."From what?"

"The roof."

Reality dawned upon him and his hazel eyes widened in fear and worry. He hugged me the tightest someone had ever before, but I didn't hug back.

He sat on ground next to me on his knees and took both of my frail shoulders in his steady hands and it was comforting. It was nice and warm and beautiful and I never wanted him to let me go. He looked me in the eyes, a bit frantic, but to me it was calming.

"Don't go, don't leave. Stay, please." He had said with his eyes boring into mine and I had nodded, because that was the first time someone had cared for me in a very, very long time.

Zayn didn't let me go that night, his arms cradling me in a very tight grip. I didn't close my eyes, but Zayn's did and as soon as I knew he had safely arrived in his peaceful slumber, I had slowly lifted my arms up to his waist and hugged him back.

At that moment I had escaped my own demons, temporarily, and moved to live in their shadows instead in their full sight.

This is how I live until this day, occasionally coming face to face with the tainting creatures, but mostly just scrambling around in the dark shadows.

Until one time a short flicker of light had shown upon me, and I craved for more. To know what living in the light feels like.

And Louis Tomlinson was going to show me.


	2. Pavement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is Surprised.

My arms ache. My back aches. My legs ache. Everything aches.

I didn't mind though, because today, today was a good day. A very good one at that.

Today was one of those days I had scrambled enough money together too buy ingredients. Not just for a proper dinner or so, no today I had enough of those precious coloured papers to exchange for ingredients that, when used adequately, will substitute in a cake. One of my favorite things on the world.

Nothing could ruin this day, not even my aching arms, back and legs. Not even those.

I wanted to jump up, sing an incredibily uplifting song loudly, a choreographed dance along with it, performing it to my endless range of books sitting against the walls, admiring my dance moves and radiating happiness. But I couldn't. Why?

Because it's two in the morning and I respect my surrounding human beings situated on my left- and right handside behind the thin carton walls of my apartment, probaly wanting to remain asleep. Something I couldn't provide when I was performing in my small living room.

I had ro restrain myself from doing it, even it was hurting my heart, not physically of course, the craving almost being too much for me. I managed though, by averting my gaze from a tempting living room, to the table I was sat in front of. The table having laid out a precise amount of five-hundred and seventy-eight Pounds, sixty-three Pence.

An amount that normally would be five Pounds thirteen Pence less. The blessed amount that had made it possible for me to bring me, not a good day, but a better one.

Bringing back the subject of those aching limbs, this sore feeling was caused by my lovely job. The thing that had given me those five Pounds and thirteen Pence. And the aching. But as aforementioned, it was all worth it.

I had overworked yesterday, so I had received a raise from my boss, Liam. Nice guy, 24 years old, three children. Ranging from the age of seven, five and one year old.

How do I know all of this information, when the only form of communication I have is with Zayn? I'll tell you.

The eldest one of the trio had wanted to borrow a book, Dorian Grey of Oscar Wilde I recall, and had startled me by uttering a question. I guess my warning lights didn't phase the small girl.

"Is this your job? Letting people take your books?" She said meanwhile looking down at the first yellowed pages of the book- that was way too hard to fully understan for a seven-year-old -in her tiny hands.

I was taken aback by her directness, but more by her calm and curious tone, not caring about my sour expression.

Well, if she was going to get down to the point, so would I.

"No, I don't have a job. Who are you?" I had asked, maintaining my surpressed face.

"My name is Anna Payne, big sister of Jacob and Olivia Payne and daughter of Liam and Janet Payne. We live on the fourth floor." She had said in formality, chin up and arms folded behind her back.

I didn't respond to it, just staring at her, making it clear I wasn't going to participate.

"Well, I've got to go now, but regarding the 'jobless' topic, my dad's looking for a new employee. He works at the garbage belt in town. You can ring at our door if you're interested." Once again, told in a stance of dignity and moments later walking out the door, book under her arm, with a "Goodbye, sir."

Okay, maybe the book wouldn't be that hard after all.

She had been an exception in my lack of contact with the outside world. And maybe, deep inside, I didn't mind. That even though those warning lights were still very present, someone could simply ignore and look past them. It gave me hope, even though I didn't know what for.

I looked over to the clock at my right-handside, concluding that there still were two hours and forty minutes to waste before the Tesco down the road would open. I was planning to head to the supermarket at five o'Clock to get my ingredients.

Normally, I would lay on the roof, but because of this day being so outstandingly amazing, I didn't want to be reminded of that taunting edge on the deck of this building. The edge that was there so suggestively, but simultaneously making me proud. Because notwithstanding my dark thoughts, I hadn't jumped. I hadn't given into it.

I couldn't fight the urge to come to the roof in the first place, but further than that had I never come.

I had to avoid that place today. I had to be on the ground, the safe and sound ground. A place were gravity couldn't help me further.

I suppose that at two in the morning there wouldn't be too much to entertain me for two and an half hours, but despite this, I needed some fresh air. Maybe I can climb over the fence of a park, joining the people who didn't have the luck to have a roof above their head. Or maybe, not so lucky. At least from my perspective.

I put a worn out jumper on and headed down the endless stairs of the flat, inhabitated by the poorest of the city. Me amongst them, barely being able to pay the rent.

I finally reached the main floor and walked out of the dubble doors blocking the crisp december air from coming into the building. The one layer of glass being almost unnecessary, the discrepancy between the outside and inside temperature being very naught.

I pushed the useless material open in front of me and stepped onto the pavement. The lights from the closed shops on the empty street almost blinding me. I quickly averted my eyes to the upper levels of the buildings, being in contrast with the screaming colors of the ground level.

My eyes finally adjusted to the lights and I started walking towards the center of the metropolis of England, also known as London.

I waltzed through the empty streets, occasionally looking up at the sky like I did every night. This night though, no stars were evident. Not even the planet lightened by the sun, rotating around the earth, not seeable.

The closer I got to the part of the city, where the houses are bigger, Aston Martins are spotted more frequently and caviar is a common delicacy, the more I came across stumbling, screaming, happily singing teenagers and men and women in their twenties having toxic filling their veins, streaming out of nightclubs.

It didn't bother me as much, but I had appearantly reached the heart of the strip. The place to be when looking for reckless youngsters having a so-called 'good time', drug dealers with impossibly bad drugs- ranging from ecstacy occuring to be ratpoison and heroin with infected needles-, lost and drunk middle-aged men trying to get away from their too mainstream family lives.

It was all here, stereotype after stereotype passing me on the pavement. The intoxicated teenagers spotting my stoic face and my non-stumbling pace and calling after me with ranging versions of "Lighten up fucker, are you depressed or something?", shooting a little dagger through my insides.

That specific sentence being very ironic. "Lighten up"? I'd love to know how to lighten up, getting out of the suffocating dark, after all I'm still trying to find the answer after all these years.

Even the second part of the sentence

was fitting. "Are you depressed or something?". I think so, but there's no one who can tell me otherwise, someone who knows what he is saying.

I was ripped away from my wandering thoughts, thoughts wandering away from the bunny-side of things, so instead of throwing a threatening glare at the boy, no actually a man (considering the unshaven beard), stumbling upon me, I showed an emotion.

I showed an emotion, a genuine emotion. A feeling I could feel in my heart, all the syptoms occuring I read about in my expository books. Countless encyclopedias I have filled my time with coming back to me.

The fast beating heart, the goosebumps, the raised eyebrows. I, Harry Styles, was suprised. Someone had truly caught me off guard. After all these years of just feeling nothing, I had felt surprised.

As fast as the emotion came as fast as it went. It had struck me like lightning. A quick and demanding scream of illumination, interrupting the dark. Revealing the world for less than a second, but still giving you a quick glimpse of it.

The, now scared looking, brunette looking up at me from the wet concrete, had started scrambling up with a lot of difficulty.

I wanted to walk away, just carry on and go back home, but the fact that this human being had ignited a genuine emotion, baffled me. 

It wasn't Zayn or my disappeared sister or Anna, no, it was a complete and utterly lost-looking tiny man with his hair plastered onto his forhead and smiling foolishly at me whilst extending his hand, waiting to be shaked. At that moment, I had joined him on the utterly-lost-boat. 

He kept holding his hand up, but I simply didn't know what to do. He though, was determined to get a return of action, that he simply wasn't getting. I was too overwhelmed to react. And just when I thought I was recovering from my state of shock, a bloke roughly slung his arm over my shoulders, a waterfall of fast-said words spluttering out of his mouth, giving me the chance to discover rather quickly that he was Irish. 

He pushed his slurred words clamorously out of his mouth, stained with red lipstick that undoubtedly had rested upon the full lips of the girl carrying her shoes, that uncoördinatedly came running towards our little huddle.

''Niall.. Niall! I have been looking for you for, for like forever. Are y- Oh! who might this fine lad be?" She sluggishly said with a very unappealing smile, pointing one digit in my direction. 

''I don't know but he found Boo! We can finally go home, I've got a shitload to study for finals." He said while patting my head and finally releasing my shoulders from his strong grip. 

I turned my head back to the sight in front of me, and it revealed a very offended 'Boo' with raised eyebrows. ''Stop fucking calling me Boo you shithead! Goddamn, Niall! Go snog Jenna or something.'' He finished with his eyebrows now descended, making a furrow.

The Irishman heaved an exasperated sigh. "Whatever, man. Let's just go home." 

The girl hailed a cab over and took the brunette by his upper arm. The tiny man was put in the car with great difficulty, the girl following him.

Before 'Niall' could follow them into the waiting vehicle, he slowly turned around and slapped his hand, once again, on my shoulder. "Thanks bud, for finding him. He can be quite a handful.. Now, Adios Amigo! Good luck with the ladies, you look like you haven't been laid in ages!" He said whilst getting in the cab 

And just like the cab disappeared around the corner, so did my sanity.


	3. Why

step

step

step

heavy intake of breath

step

step

step

That's the vicious cycle I've been in for twelve flights of stairs. Three heavily packed bags resting in my hands, which had became white from the thin plastic straps pinching my veins.

Eventually, I arrived at my raveled out door, multiple wooden splinters laying in front of it. I pushed the doorknob down and let the devious plastic bags fall next to my feet. I pushed my boots off and set them next to a familiar pyramid of books.

I walked toward the living room, still not having forgotten about my previous thoughts about my desire to have a little show in here, but ignoring them and picking up a pack of Marlboro and the accompanied pink lighter. I pulled the doors next to the old floral armchair open and stepped onto the empty, concrete balcony, delimited by thin cylinders of steel. The ample space between the bars giving me the chance to look down to the small figures walking down the street from my crouched position on the ground.

I lighted my cigarette and moved from the center of the platform to the brink, to push my lanky legs under the fence of steel. I let them dangle above the thirty metres of cold air, rushing over the face of the earth.

I sucked the polluted air in and out, the action sobering me up like nothing else did. Only this addictive stick of tobacco could make me leave the haze of confusion and bliss I had been stuck in for the past hours. The feeling bothered me, the cause being that bloody drunk man.

Now I finally could get my mind sorted out, I didn't know what to think of this morning.

I don't know whether I should be grateful for him making me feel something or be pissed for making everything so much more complicated.

I don't know if I enjoyed feeling anything at all, because the durance of it was so short I can't even recall what it feeled like. Anno three hours after occurence. I couldn't get a grip on the sensation and it frustrated me.

God, I'm never going out again.

I finished my cigarette, seeing clear through my tired eyes again. I would love to smoke that whole pack drag by drag, just sitting here, unfortunately, dying from long cancer is a very expensive hobby. And I have got a cake to bake.

At the thought of that, I made a beeline through the living room and the corridor, arriving in a timespan of less than three seconds, at the grocery bags.

I picked them up and turned the corner to the kitchenette.

All sealed products that were needed to bake a red velvet cake were carefully put onto the counter. I ripped the drawer open and slammed it close, but not before I had retrieved an almost-empty flour package.

Whilst dumping the remaints of the thin and wrinkled carton onto the countertop, I had a huge grin on my mouth, because right now, I could finally do the thing I had wanted for so long.

▲▼▲▼▲ 

The most exciting and joyous things in life can be ruined so simply.

In a very long time I hadn't been able to do the thing I was so keen on doing. I hadn't been since the day I had moved into this apartment, actually.

The reason I loved baking so very dearly, had been long forgotten. Maybe because, like aforementioned, I hadn't been able to experience it for so long or, maybe because I wanted to forget it.

What I had forgotten were the welcoming smiles, the excited expressions, the small gasps escaping mouths, the raised eyebrows, the warm gazes, the embracing arms, the crowded kitchen tables, the gleeful chatter, the cleaning up of the endless little small plates smeared by chocolate icing.

I had forgotten that I had found the glee in baking, because I could make others so jocund with it. I could make them feel elate, flattered, surprised even.

Showing your loved ones, or anyone really, these baked goods made from scratch and watch them become, happy. Making someone his or her moment in time a bit more better.

A birthday, a wedding, an anniversary, name it.

And each and every single thing that was on this wonderful list of joy, except the cake, was missing in my empty forlorn living room. Most importantly, the people were missing. Because I am the way I am. A lonely human being, just letting his life pass by in the pace of a snail, being stuck in his own cycle of meaningless actions.

Believe me, I would love to change that, give my actions some meaning, but unfortunately I didn't have the courage.

I would love to pick my phone up and press the numbers Zayn had written on a small yellow stick-it the night he had saved me and ask him to come over and share my cake, maybe receiving a second embrace when he is about to leave. I would love to walk these twelve flights of stairs down and share my freshly-baked red velvet cake with the little hurdle of homeless men sitting in front of the flat every day, painting a grateful smile on their lips. I would love to go out and sit in a pub, meet people and offering a slice of cake halfway our conversation, see a set of raised eyebrows appear on their foreheads.

I would do all these things with absolute and honest pleasure, but I just didn't dare to.

Maybe Zayn doesn't want to come. Maybe those homeless men will think I'm weird.

Maybe I won't even be able to maintain a conversation with a complete stranger.

All these things, and many more, were withholding me, withholding me from turning my meaningless actions, into ones of value.

That's how I ended up with a dead end in my endeavor to escape the shadows and an untouched cake standing on the coffee table in the middle of my living room.

Just like that, I was back to letting the time pass in the pace of snail, being stuck in my own cycle of meaningless actions.

Sitting on the couch and staring in front of me, hearing the ticking clockhand, hearing the time pass by second by second. 

I counted them, the seconds. Another meaningless action, I had thought at the hundred-thousandth one.

It had been quiet for a very long time, a moment where I had lost track of the seconds, until I heard a sound.

A sound of dull thumps, the source I didn't acknowledge at first, but the sound was quickly followed up by a two curt knocks on my door.

My door. Somebody was at my door.

I stood up, made an attempt to straighten my permanently-wrinkled jumper and slowly walked towards the wooden plank where somebody was stood behind. Right at this moment.

I layed my hand on the cold metal of the doorknob and heaved a deep sigh and closed my eyes. My heart was beating out of its chest.

I cautiously opened the door, my eyes still closed, not planning to open them before hearing a voice. The sour expression already taken it's place on my face. 

A very young and high-pitched, but still serious sound came from somewhere a little beneath shoulder-length.

"Good day, sir."

I opened my eyes to look down at the girl who had previously made quite an impression on me. Anna Payne.

I did not know why she was here or whatsoever, but just like everyone, she was receiving a treatment, the aim to keep her from talking to me.

"Hello, Anna." I dryly retorted.

"Payne. Anna Payne." She said, a very firm glare directed upwards from the 9-year-old in my direction.

My face remained stoic. "What are you doing here?".

Another glare shot right at me, not phasing me.

"I am here to return the book Dorian Grey from Oscar Wilde, due to me finishing it yesterday evening. I was hoping I could borrow another one."

I had to process her answer, understanding she was here wiyh a valid reason.

''Well, come in.''

I stepped back and pushed the door a bit further open, the still firm-looking girl passing my squished body behind the door.

I finally released my blackened lungs from the pressure of the door and closed it with a soft click. I turned my body and was met with two outstretched pale arms holding the bundled stack of paper that had been missing for twenty-two days.

I accepted it and avoided the fixed gaze of Anna on me.

When after a while of just standing there, looking anywhere but down, I understood I needed to say something, and fast.

"You can just look around anywhere you like. My house isn't very big, so you should be able to find everything." I said still not meeting the gaze of her warm brown eyes, the color clearly inherited from her father.

I received no answer from her, I just heard the shuffling sound of small feet making it's way to the bedroom, hunting for some fresh reading material.

I did most certainly not want to receive another interrogation by some dexterous 9-year-old. Not in my current state. Thus I walked past the coffee table and picked the half-empty cigarette pack and the infamous pink lighter, my hands firmly clasped around them. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder, revealing an derelict room, stacked with books and nobody vacant in it.

I pushed the door open and stepped onto the pale concrete with my sock-covered feet. I leaned my back against the metal bars, keeping me from falling of the platform. I lighted my cigarette, not caring I wouldn't have enough for the week, and curled my feet up to my chest. It was cold.

I just sat there, I don't know for how long, waiting for Anna to leave my safe haven, but I still hadn't heard a door close. So I waited, and waited and eventually closing my eyes, resting, but not sleeping.

I'm never asleep and I'm never awake.

In my temporary escape from my surroundings, I did not notice a that a warm body had settled itself next to mine.

I opened my eyes, but not turning them to the girl next to me. Just staring ahead and not making a sound.

"You look so much nicer without that frown you seem the wear all the time."

I was taken aback. I was speechless. I was dumbstruck. I did absolutely not know how to reply to that. Also, the fact of it being a statement, not adding up to the choice of appropriate replies.

In brevity, my mind was a chaos at that moment in time.

So, I made a subject-change, not so very subtly.

"I see you have found your book. Coming a bit closer to the audience it was written for than your previous one." I said, as if nothing had been said in the passed minute.

I felt her gaze upon me, I felt it poking me, jabbing for attention. I wasn't going to give it to her though. I couldn't.

After several minutes of intense gazes fired at my head, hit after hit, she had given up with her apparent crave for a return of recognition.

She huffed and slumped against the fence of the balcony, her stare now resting on the mist, coating the air. I saw this as some kind of indication of defeat, but I was wrong. Entirely wrong.

"But why do you always look so angry? You can't permanently be cross at someone." She said, confidence laced with honest curiosity.

I contemplated for an extended period of time to, at least, try to explain it to her. 

She seemed like bright girl, a good listener, but to saddle her up with these kinds of extremely personal information, didn't seem right.

Even if I did decide to tell her, how could I explain my situation, or whatever it is that I have, when I don't even understand it myself.

In the entire twenty years I have been on this planet, have I ever spoken aloud about this. Right now, I have the chance to actually do it, try to tell an extremely nosy, but also extremely adorable girl about why I actually act the way I do.

And I wasn't planning to let that chance pass by.


	4. The Balcony

I just sat there, trying to think of a right start. The cons weighed up to the pros, but I guess this subject was more revolving around passion rather than logic.

I decided to just say what came to my mind, and as my breath was inhaled to articulate the words that were going to come out impulsively, Anna's voice rang through the brisk air.

"You don't have to tell me. It's so personal, I shouldn't have asked that! That was so rude! I'll just go and take my book home. I'm so sorry." She quickly spoke, the words said whilst she was getting on her thin and thickly clothed legs, heading to the door that lead into my living room.

I didn't move for a moment, processing those ten seconds of rushed words and unnecessary apologies.

Anna was leaving. Anna was leaving and I had to stop her. Right now.

I ran behind her, I already heard the front door click open, making me hurry even more. She stepped into the hallway, followed by myself.

"Anna." I belted.

"Yes, sir?" She reluctantly acknowledged, whilst turning around on her feet.

I didn't have a clue of why I was rushing after her or why I wanted her to stay. Was it the fact that I was going to tell her about my situation or because I wanted a break from being lonely?

Whatever the thing was I wanted, I wasn't going to let her just leave.

''Do you want a slice of cake?''

''Pardon?"

''I've just made a cake, red velvet to be precise, and it would be a shame if I would just throw it away.'' I stated surprisingly smoothly. 

She looked at me incredulously and inspected me from head to toe afterwards, like I was hiding something. I had to admit, it was a curious case. A 20-year-old acquintance was asking her to come eat a slice of cake.

As a girl with a total life experience of nine years, I would have ran away by now.

That's why it surprised me Anna answered with an "I guess I've got some time." and took a step in my direction. 

I quickly took a step back inside, but Anna was faster though and before I could blink an eye, I was engulfed in an embrace of two arms, which could barely meet each other behind my waist. 

She turned her head and put it against my stomach, giving me two more squeezes before letting go and walking past me inside the house with a small, content smile painted on her face. 

After a minute of helplessly standing in the empty hallway that had discarded Anna long ago, I returned back inside. I set a foot inside my small living room, to be met with her sitting in the floral armchair, quickly putting a book back on its assigned place. 

I sat down across from her, but quickly standing back up. "Oh, yeah. Cake, right- plates.. forks." I mumbled under my breath. 

Moments later I returned with two porcelain plates, two forks and a kitchen knife being held in my arms. She stared up at me curiously, but before I could set the list of objects down on the coffee table to join my cake, she stood up to help me. She took the plates from me and set them down. I copied the action, during it though I felt a set of eyes burning a hole through the side of my head.

"You're not very handy, are you sir?" She spoke with a little bit of surprise left in her young yet wise voice, her eyes never leaving or not trying to find slight contact with mine. "Can I help you with the cake, maybe?" 

I nodded at her, some feeling holding me back from using words. Maybe I was shy, maybe I was embarrased of myself towards this girl, I didn't know what this might've been. It was very comforting though, she was taking lead in this and not pushing me. 

What scared me the most was when after a brief moment of awkward silence and the exchange of personal information, such as names, age and hobbies, she had attempted to crack a joke. Even though it was on of those ones where you just send the person that look of "really?!", I had smiled.

Almost as small that it couldn't be seen from a short distance, but Anna did. And as soon as a huge grin had formed itself on her face at an alarming speed, my tugged up corners of my mouth quickly decsending. 

I had let my guard down, with Anna it was with by my middle already, but at that moment it had sunk deep, to my heels, disappearing into my wooden floor.

This was my exact goal, keeping away from people coming back. I had failed and I had to step up my game to never ever let this happen again.

Anna was quick to redeem my determined thoughts, quickly steering them in the opposite direction.

"Please don't look sad anymore, it's okay to smile or laugh, sir. A smile would look much better on you, actually." She remarked with a genuine tone. 

And at that moment in time, that little spark of hope I had felt once more. It energized me and I wanted to feel it again and again. 

So there I sat, once again, and gave a little tug on my lips, fueled by that spark, and left it there. Smiling up at Anna who was eating her cake with great noticable pleasure.

I felt renewed, temporarily.


	5. Steve and his unexplicable need of chats

I pushed the door open and walked into the snowing weather of mid-December. I felt the cold flakes descending onto my beanie-covered head and my reeking overall.

It was a Thursday morning and I had felt ready. Ready for my day at work and the cause had been yesterday. It had freshen me up, because I had reinvented that feeling of glee again. It had brought me out of my sad funk and it felt like it wasn't planning on ending soon. 

So there I went with a steady pace, feeling like I was floating over the pavement, heading to my oh-so-wonderful-job. 

When arriving I noticed I was a tad too early. The terrain, where usually a couple of trucks would've been occupied and the engine already running, was empty. The only lights present were from the streetlanterns and window of the main office. 

The main office wasn't anything extravagant. Basically an equipped container with a faint lamp and a cocky faculty manager situated in it. Don't get me wrong, Liam is a lovely guy, but he is very proud of his job. Takes it a bit too seriously, like he's a military officer. 

I walked over to the office to retreat my uniform and keys for the truck, but the second I stepped in, a buldering sound reached my ears.

"Goodmorning, Mister Styles."  
Was the greeting I received from the cocky faculty manager himself.

Usually I would be welcomed in his 'office' with a barely acknowledged, groggy and sandwich-blocked "Mornin'". Now though, the sandwich was still wrapped in its transparent plastic and he looked as fresh as a newborn, to top it all off I got some kind of pretentious nickname in addition.

I had done something terribly wrong, but I did not know what exactly. I wasn't held in anticipation, though.

"My daughter, Anna, came home late yesterday, when I asked her where she had been, she answered that she was with you and you had invited her inside." Liam boomed through the space, making it sound even more louder. 

"I genuinely am.. sorry, sir. I just had some left-over cake and wanted to share it with someone.. I- I just didn't know.. it would be a problem. otherwise- I would have never done it." I kept adding more stammered sentences to one another and Liam seemed to have a twinkle of regret in his eyes.

He kept his angry-boss-act up though and let the air in the container shake once more. "Don't let it happen again, Mister Styles."

I quickly nodded in agreement, hoping it was convincing enough.

"Okay, get to work now." He belted.

After the dismissal I made a beeline for the door and putting my horribly smelling jacket on. When I finally took a seat in the truck where later on Steve, my co-worker, would take place in, I noticed that my heart was beating out of my chest. I had felt so intimidated and I didn't know how to handle it. Socially, I was practically a left-behind toddler.

Everyone around me was used to the fact that I didn't speak voluntarily and a face that screamed out 'I hate everything and everyone!'. At least, that's what they said about me, information originated from an overheard conversation on my second day at work. I had been oblivious to it, my numbness overpowering the pain. I couldn't decide whether to be grateful or unsettled about that.

Before I could figure out the right answer to my floorer, a tick was heard on the condensed window next to me. Quickly after revealing a lit up face from none less than Steve. 

Steve, Steve was never not happy and had no 'stop' button on the talking, to the point where if you would have a competition of how many words one could speak in a minute, he could surely haul that first prize in, bypassing all of the gossiping teenage girls in the world.

He just never ran out of words, I had to give him that, but as you know, I am on the complete opposite side of the universe in that department.

That's why the first week was kind of rough for him, because he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that I would never utter a word. He would try and try and try to get something, anything out of me, but - of course - I flat out refused.  
That week was followed by workdays filled with endless monologues, the one after the other, a pause to breathe foreign.

And so as I opened the car door, one of those workdays began. 

Two blocks later I had been enriched with information on his -straight- best bud that had been so hammered three days ago, that he had slept with a complete stranger, a guy to be clear, and had woken up in the morning completely naked with aforementioned person staring lovingly up at him with heart eyes. After the guy had left, not without difficulty, he had locked himself up in his room for approximately fifty hours claiming that he was "trying to find himself" and emerging after, calling everyone up he knew and announced with pride that he was gay. 

I did listen to him, I just didn't say anything. Sometimes I wondered whether he had a wild imagination or a very eventful life. Either way, it didn't matter, because I had to get to work.

I stepped out of the truck and began with my first set of filled and nauseating trashcans, waiting to be emptied. 

Ensue. I thought to myself whilst sitting completely still in the passenger seat, not wanting to move.

Eventually I got over myself and pulled the car door open, interrupting Steve's description of his sixth girlfriend in the past three months. He probaly just talks his heartache away. Typical.

I began. Began putting the never ending sequence of stuffed and disgusting trashcans, waiting for me to set them into the shackle. My task couldn't have been more simple, but it was an exhausting one at that. 

I was about at the two hundred-fiftieth trashcan when an apparent angry soul slammed his door close a couple of doors away. It looked entirely intentional, the slam I mean, seeing he was playing tag with the doorpost, trying to put all of his power in his pathetic attempts to break something. It was an adorable sight, to be honest. 

A grown, but very compact, man, with an arse to dream of, flinging his not-so-impressive battens against a piece of concrete. 

As I said, adorable.

His medium to make the wall crumble had now transmitted to his feet. He had forgotten though, that the muscles in his calves carried a whole lot more strength than his arms, resulting in a shooting pain through his toes. Even from afar, that was noticable. 

He gave up on his plan, that seemed ideal at first, and craned his head to the secondth floor of the house he was stood in front of, having heard a voice from the open window. 

I hastily picked the stuffed trashcans up from the pavement and put them in the shackle for the seemingly thousandth time today. 

The truck rode several yards further, stopping at the next house. I was now closer to the figure that was yelling back and forth between a girl that was only wearing a half-worn bra, showing all of her tattoos and additional nipple piercing, and looked so hungover I almost felt sorry for her.

"Louis, you fucking piece of shit! Pick your tiny balls up from the floor and put the trash outside, I don't give a damn fly if you feel sorry for yourself!" She screamed with such force I flinched. 

"You've got to be kidding me now! you lock me out and dump me on the pavement with a bag full of plastic!" He yelled back.

"I am doing you a favour here. You haven't left the house for weeks! It's time to swim out of your kiddie pool of self-pity tears and go outside. I have offered you on multiple occasions, being very kind may I note, to tag along, but you wouldn't budge."

"Ava, she was the love of m-" He tried to interrupt her

"Don't fucking start on me now, Louis. I am yelling myself into such a horrendous headache that I might pass out, so you better just get your arse out there or you won't get in!" The moment the girl with flaming red hair shot him a glare as fierce as Conchita Wurst looked at the Eurovision Songfestival, 'Louis' obeyed. 

To my dismay, I couldn't witness the entire scene, but I caught every single word and it was very entertaining. 

This day had started as a seven, but was getting close to a nine. 

What I did see, was the man picking up the plastic bag and walking towards the trashcan, which I had almost reached, in the pace of a snail. 

I waited at the corner of the small brick wall, functioning as the gate of his untrimmed garden.

When the man nighed the aforementioned gate, I was able to analyze his face. 

He had a very punctured face. High cheekbones, very delicate lips, hooded eyes that were so, so blue.

And even though he didn't belong to my small list of acquintances, he radiated this vibe of faint familiarity. The sensation couldn't be placed for several seconds, even after the man himself had dropped the bag in the trashcan with a grunt and a flashed a glimpse of dark-bruised eyes.

The thing that had made the whole picture click, was the sight of his eyes up close. 

Those several nights ago where I had situated in this state of euphoria and confusion for hours. The cause had been him. The one that had made me feel something.

It made me whip around, only the thought of seeing that person again seemed to not have crossed my mind before, but was founded very appealing at that moment.

I chased the back of his pajama-covered body with my eyes and established that it was him.

The chance that I would see him again in my life seemed so miniscule. 

But that was the thought that made me protest against the impulse of running after him, kiss both of his cheeks, stare into his eyes  and telling him that I didn't know how he had done it, but he did and I was forever thankful.

If the chance was so miniscule, it couldn't just have happened, right?

It didn't have to be him. What if I had mistaken him for someone else? What if I was just hallucinating, working myself up over nothing? He didn't seem to havw recognised me, I think?

Those, and thousands of more related questions, would taint me for the following days. 

All asking the same thing:

Had it really been him?


	6. 5

From the moment the first question had arosen after Louis' departure to this very minute, three in the afternoon whilst trying to shut Steve out, a lot of questions had been filling my head.

I didn't think of how I disliked my new toothpaste, my greasy hair, a book that hadn't been turned in, a dog that had constantly been barking in the hallway last night, my sister, my absolute repulsement of the day friday, basically my life.

My thoughts had wholly been replaced by Louis and his ability to do whatever he did. And a whole lot of questions.

My mind kept going back to attempt to retrieve a more vivid memory of Louis' face. Were his cheekbones as sharp as that night? Did his hair really have that golden glow? Was he as spoiled as he had been yesterday?

Comparing, doubting, thinking, eliminating, comparing...

That's what had been happening for the past twenty-seven hours and - taking a quick glance at my watch - forty-three minutes. It wouldn't stop. My daily cigarettes weren't helping and Steve, would not shut up. As usual.

The moment when I would pass Louis' apartment during my shift was getting closer and wasn't a nice foresight as I might burst through his door and take a good look at him and let him answer all of my questions.

As this wasn't a day like all the others I still hadn't figured out whether this was a good or bad day. Solely Louis had been in my head. I took this day halfheartedly in account as a good one. Just because - as taunting the topic could be - Louis wasn't necessarily something bad. Definitely not.

I fastened container after container in the brackle and in in no-time the moment came I would face the old, dilapidated house - possibly - with its inhabitant included. I hoped he wouldn't make it any harder by still performing his hysterical act of revolt against his roommate. I guessed she was his roommate, I might be wrong. She could've been his older sister who was stuck in her 'rebellious phase' and decided the look couldn't be complete if there wasn't any soft drugdealing or tattoos involved. Louis could've been her younger sibling who lived with her as a twenty-four year old and hadn't planned his University budget out and was forced to kip at his sister's.

It was a good occupation, thinking of scenarios in my head with the information I had. Said one was a perfect example of the past hours. Thinking like this was a perfect way to shut out other potential and present issues in my life. Inbetween those scenarios I got more serious though and that's the repetitive cycle I was talking about.

That's when I compare the glimpse of his fingers I had gotten with the ones i saw when Louis had been piss-drunk.

Then, when I thought to be right - or wrong - on their identical characteristics I started doubting myself and beating myself up because how could I be that stupid? How could I actually relate these things?

The possibility was wiped off of the list and I would plough through the next part of the day.

After some more thinking I had reached a faimiliar house. I wanted to go in so bad. So, so bad. I couldn't, obviously. I took a step in the right, then in the left and I almost couldn't contain myself. Steve's "Harry! Hurry up, dude! What are you even doing?" Was only riling me up.

My head was on fire and the only extinguisher nearby was me replying to Steve's constant yelling.

I turned around in a whim and shouted - in the loudest manner I think I've ever done; "Shut up, okay!?".

Steve had already looked mortified when I had turned around but his face guiltily looking down and his hunched shoulders made me regret it instantly.

I sent a last remorseful look into the dark driver's cabin of the lorry, but it was neglected.

I spent the remaining time of my shift in a shocking silence and guilt gnawing at my conscience. Louis' self and his house wasn't forgotten, though.

I came home, threw my overall over the fence of the balcony and began reading. It wasn't actual reading, though, as all I was really was doing was staring at the wall with book in hand. The topic wasn't very hard to guess.

I was so engrossed that turning the light switch on when the twilight had started pouring in was something completely unimportant. I stood up, put my book on a pile of books yet to be read and walked toward the bathroom.

I opened the door and stepped into the cramped place. My bathroom isn't as bad that the shower can only produce ice cold water, the mirror is completely cracked and it's the home of a big family of cockroaches, but it came close.

I looked into the mirror only to see myself. Old, tired me. I fiercely disliked looking into the mirror. I'll save that story for later though.

I stripped off and shivered when I turned the shower on. It was immensely cold in the bathroom but the damp of the warm water hit the ceiling and soon me. I stepped into the shower to scrub the unsanitary reeking - I was used to it by now - off my body.

I took the big bottle of body lotion in my hand and slowly started spreading it over my body. I stepped under the hot stream of water and let the residu trickle down into the hole.

After that I took a bottle of shampoo - wild roses and caramel, not exactly alluring I thought to myself - and scrubbed it into my hair. The moment I stepped - attempted - to step back under the shower head I quickly bounced back. The water had turned icily cold and I almost facepalmed myself for not checking the time.

Every side of the hallway had a shared water silo and so it was a daily ritual that the Indian mother of her seven children started cooking at six o'clock. Somewhere around that time she used an excessive amount of hot water for her rice-boiling, I suppose, so that meant the water of the shower was cut short by, well.. everything.

I accepted the fact that I had to wait for a bit and considered washing the shampoo out by putting it under the tap, but I felt too tired. I stayed put and slid down the tiled wall and let the cold water sprinkle my feet. Caring about the cold had been a superfluous thing to do, I found.

Time passed by and my Louis-thoughts were interrupted by my nearly burned feet.

I elatedly whizzed up and let the water heat my timidly shaking body up.

After my extended shower visit I put on my joggers, about two long-sleeved shirts, a jumper and thick socks.

I ate a simple dinner and rushed my coat and scarf on. The door was locked and ten minutes later I inevitably ended up with the cold wind brushing my wet curls on the roof.

It had gotten dark and I realised this was the earliest I had ever gone up. I kept standing and hummed a unfinished melody to myself.

Meanwhile, I was thinking about how I could stop thinking altogether. Quite paradoxical I soon realized.

That's how I figured out that would be a hopeless case so I redirected and thought of how to stop thinking about Louis.

I actually succeeded at first, thinking about Steve and how shocked he must've been when I had said something, but maybe he would be scared or even angry at me tomorrow.

I disregarded it, and walked toward the edge and sat myself down.

I will spare my thoughts, they might be a bit hard to understand. Well, not all of my thoughts, just some of them. It's not that they're written in hieroglyphic signs, but they may sound very unlogical.

Enough of that though, talking about something that won't be exposed is a silly thing to do.

Although, that day was different. Because among my cogitations - I might as well call my thoughts cogitations, because, really, they were - was doing something, I could say oafish, but incredibly featherpated could do the job too.

I grabbed my scarf that had been thrown next to me and headed downstairs. I went all the way down, not even paying the slightest attention to my own door and skedaddled onto the pavement.

I started walking toward my job, passing dozens of off-license mini markets and kebab grillrooms. It had already become dark and that meant the bright neon signs and street lanterns had sprung on. A typical early winter evening I called it.

After my self-affecing wander through the London streets I safely arrived next to my derelict working place. From there I should've been able to remember how to get there.

Now, I've left it in the dark what there is. And maybe it was to leave the shock of my unpresumable action or just procastinating to avoid the revelation of my stupidity.

Anyhow, I'd have to tell anyway. I was already halfway around the block toward my destination that was Louis' house.

I hadn't questioned myself for as long as I could, just follow your heart or some kind of superstitious sayings, but it worked.

I was doing it, although I wasn't sure my ignorance of common sense or basic social skills applied to the phrase follow your heart.

Either way, I had effortlessly found my way back to Louis' house. When I turned the corner and the white building spilt my sight, that's when I started to question. It was a short-lasting occurance as I told my brain to do the exact same it had done before and so I started hopping over to my desired destination.

As I was approaching, I started noticing the noise. Few groups of people were stood on the tiled front yard and the open door was spilling house music into the night. Everyone had a cup in hand and all seemed fairly drunk.

Even though it wasn't completely clear to me what I was doing in front of that house, I kept nearing. I kept walking although there already were a few glances thrown in my direction from the party goers, I didn't budge.

It was only when I was in front of the small iron gate I couldn't move any further. I stayed glued to the pavement and eyed everything up and down.

It was a rosy shade of light inside the house, it seemed and the window that had been open the first time before was open as well. The curtain were put out of the window and now wavering along with the steady wind. Faint chattering could be heard from inside and most people in front of me in the yard looked in their early, mid-twenties and seemed to have a smoking-break.

It made me want a cigarette.

While my analysis of Louis' house was improving with every descriptive statement, I was interrupted by a pointer finger animatedly poking in my direction.

I looked up to see a girl standing up and walking inside again from her position on the front porch. I confusedly squinted my eyes to see who she was and double-checked behind me whether she had been pointing at me or maybe a ghost had been behind me.

I stayed in my state of utter confusion. Maybe she was going to get Louis and send me away or call the police to say there was a stalker and get a restriction order. I didn't know but I decided it wasn't important as she was gone now.

Although, a few minutes later it seemed that it was indeed important as the girl and another figure came out the door and the girl started pointing again.

The figure behind her looked me straight in the eye and started skipping toward me. As he came closer I realised it was the Irish dude and the other girl from the club, Louis' friends.

I backed away a little, onto the edge of the pavement, but the clearly drunk man opened his arms delightfully and yelled rather loudly "Ol' sport, what has brought you here tonight?!"

I stayed quiet, but the iron gate was violently slammed against the brick wall and I was embraced me in a warm hug.

I completely stiffened and looked him in the eyes akin to the ones of a petrified puppy. A face popped up from behind the skinny blond and I was spoken to in an attempted comforting manner.

"He's just quoting The Great Gatsby. Well, the ol' sport part, I don't actually know if he says the rest, but hello! Why are you here? You're the dude from last week right, who found Lou?" She was asking multiple questions at once and I didn't know what to say. The face of the Irish lad had already been illuminated by his phone. He statted making a selfie with me and the girl from a distance. The girl continued. "Did we forget to thank you? Oh my Days, if we did, so sorry! By the way, I did mean it when I called you handsome, you really are cute and such. D'you wanna come in, we've got a massive stash of booze. Like a thank-you-finding-Louis-celebration-drink!"

She was clearly wasted and I was kind of surprised she had remembered me, but I was feeling wild and I was in an unpredictable state, so that was my way of saying fuck you to my brain.

By now, the blond had put his phone away and was looking at me expectedly. I switched from her to his face and nodded.

The girl, Jenna I believe, smiled widely and stepped forward and linked mine with her arms and I nearly flinched away.

She was oblivious though and pulled me all the way into the house. The blond followed closely after.

Despite so many people standing outside to smoke their cigarettes and whatnot, when stepping inside, the space was filled with smoke and the smell of weed was very prominent. It was packed and I was pulled past a kitchen with people chugging bottles of vodka down and a beer tap being conviscated by some rascal, the hallway was pretty much reserved for the intense snogging sessions and the living room was a drug-exchanging mess with dancing figures. I was tugged through the entire house but when I heard Jenna whine she couldn't find 'him' she simultanously had a drunken epiphany.

She excitedly dragged me up the stairs and dashed through a carpeted corridor, only to push a door open and reveal a room filled with foggy smoke and a few stoned figures chattering away. She pushed me in and soon a surprisingly sober-looking Louis, sat next to a antique closet on the ground was spotted.

My throat got tight and a bad feeling erupted in my stomach.

What the fuck was I doing?


End file.
